


The Eucharist

by HolmesianDeduction



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Autopsy, Borderline Necrophilia, Other, Post Reichenbach, Potential Spoilers, The Reichenbach Fall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolmesianDeduction/pseuds/HolmesianDeduction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly sees Jim one final time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eucharist

             The body lay before her, blood drained from the surface of pale skin, the blunt force trauma—contusions that, not long ago, had been oozing a thick pool of blood and cerebrospinal fluid out onto the London pavement—all cleaned up and sterilised, like a sacrifice on the alter.

             Without prompting, she draws the shroud the rest of the way back, revealing the bruised and broken form of the thing that was once a man, all bruised, bent up limbs and shattered bones.  Carefully, she peels back a latex glove from her chilled fingers and allows the tapered fingers to glide along the shattered marble of flesh, the carefully carved whorls of her digit-prints moving in crop circles over the wrenched-out-of-place calf, the ridged edges of a shattered patella, dancing up the femoral artery in a slow, almost languid movement that doesn't falter even as leg meets groin and carefully trimmed fingernails skim the once-sensitive skin of the perineum.

             Her expression carefully fixed, she does not even appear to flinch as her hand moves upwards, curling around the scrotum briefly before trailing fingers up the underside of the flaccid shaft and rolling the curvature of her palm over the pallid tip before gliding up and over towards the remnants of what were once beautifully arced hipbones.  Suddenly slightly clammy, her hand glides over the heavily bruised torso, the cracked collarbone, and lingers over the stillness of the jugular.

             The face, as she leans over the body, is somehow still almost pristine, the blood long since washed away from the skin, though just over the hairline, mats of dried blood remain where the skull is smashed in by the fall.  Allowing her lips to twitch slightly at the corners, she plants a brief, almost chaste kiss at the corner of the mouth, then another, less so on the slightly parted lips as without looking, she carefully makes the first set of incisions to begin the autopsy.


End file.
